Dreamers at Eight

Apologies to Rimbeau. Written in June or July 2006.

Above all he liked to sit by certain trees,
Inhaling the smell of half-dead leaves,
Green stained with gold that fluttered to his fingers.
Palms pressed against the trunk, he'd smile,
A child and animal, restless—but still
The time seemed slowed down underneath certain trees.
Against the sidewalk, he'd kick his legs,
So fixed in his head, the rhythms were like songs.
First kick and a shoe swung hard against concrete,
Second kick and his mind drifted to other things,
Third kick—now, a dream—other gods, other tongues,
Other worlds roamed his thoughts beneath uncertain trees,
And he breathed in the green smells of living leaves.

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